By Ravi Verma, Stillpoint Program Director 

Earlier this year, even my hometown Los Angeles experienced one of our coldest winters. For those of  you who know me—cold weather and I are not good friends. I live in an apartment complex with a lot of  trees and beautiful surroundings and part of my practice is to walk there and in my neighborhood every  day—in cold and hot weather. And I noticed: winter trees have their own beauty, the changing light  washes over everything gently, the grey/blue sky and the hard ground draw me outward and inward. The  stillness is transmitted to me and when the wind blows, I sway with the branches, dance with the leaves.  The colors and the starkness touch me in places I cannot always name. 

The trees in these grounds reacted differently to the cold. Some lost all their leaves and stood in their  bare beauty. Some still held on to their leaves, full branches swaying, and slowly the green leaves  changed colors. Some were in between, retaining some leaves—green and brown—and some drifting  with the cold air, some bare and some full branches. I imagine their roots might be interconnected and  form this beautiful eco-system. The birds floated gracefully from one tree to another. 

When I was asked to write for Stillpoint’s newsletter on spiritual companionship and formation, I knew I  had to write about these trees and what has been lingering in me. The three photos will hopefully give  you a snapshot of a moment in time I spent with the trees. These trees are within twelve-foot radius of  each other, formed and nurtured by similar soil and weather. They seem to be the same species, yet  each responds to life in their unique way. I invite you to look at these pictures, and perhaps some images  of your spiritual imagination, as you read my random ponderings. Gently explore what glimmers for you,  what gives you pause, and what you have a strong reaction to.

• Curiosity about letting go, holding on, waiting: what season are you, I and our communities in?  What wisdom might our deep roots be whispering? What new growth may be birthing? 

• Exploring my own responses to changing circumstances: do I have a preferred way of  responding? What are my patterns? 

• Ways to respond to someone who is blossoming when I am in a dry spell, or in a different  season… More broadly, how does my social location affect my ability to be fully present to  others from a very different social location? 

• Do outside factors—culture, politics, collective shadow, inequity, hatred and injustice—impact  me and those who I am with? How can we address and learn from our intersectionalities? How  to be comfortable with discomfort? Do those factors influence whom I chose to hang out with,  accompany, let into my life? What is mine to do at this stage in my life and in my vocation? 

• How do I respect, relish the beauty of each stage and response in my formation and in the  formation of others? How can this be a value that Stillpoint intentionally espouses and practices  in all our work? 

• How am I being nurtured: through being grounded, by taking in the light like the trees do? How  do I honor that I and all sentient beings around me are interconnected, that we affect each  other and our wholeness is both collective and individual? How do we both heal and hurt each  other in this organic evolving space? 

• As winter prepares us for spring in all her exquisite ways, how does that deepening and stillness  prepare us for our work to do in the world? How are my inner and outer journeys connected?  How do we prepare a container for those we walk with to explore that connection within  themselves and then to draw on their and our collective roots to take the next step?

• How did the trees’ ancestors, the living water throughout the ages, the common air they  breathe, prepare them for this moment to stand strong to face the next season? What can we  learn and practice from their lives? 

And today the same trees are all blooming, with vibrant shades of green, dancing with the wind,  relishing the bright sunlight and preparing at the threshold of night. As I pay attention again, there is  more wisdom to be gleaned. 

I invite you to use whatever practices work for you to live with these questions. If you are inclined, talk to  a trusted friend about what is stirring in you. Maybe even respond to this blog. 

In closing, here is an excerpt from a poem by Marcina Wiederker. May there be beauty, wisdom and  trust in all the seasons you and I, the Stillpoint community and the world face today and in the future. 

“Listening to Winter” by Macrina Wiederkehr 

The trees have shed their colorful autumn robes. 

Winter is raging through the dark, empty branches 

and I am listening. 

I am listening to the roar and to the quiet of winter. 

I am listening to a beauty that sometimes remains unseen. 

I am listening. 

I am listening to the seed hidden in the earth. 

I am listening to the dark swallowing up the light. 

I am listening to faith rising out of doubt. 

I am listening to the need to believe without seeing.

Ravi Verma, is Stillpoint's Program Director, a spiritual director and has worked professionally with churches and lay leaders for over 25 years. Ravi’s passion is to work with individuals and groups to build bridges between parts of ourselves, with others and the cosmos based on our connection to the Divine. Ravi, born in India, teaches at Stillpoint, and works with corporations, retreat centers, and non-profits on issues of spiritual formation. Ravi is a past member of the coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International, the first global learning network of spiritual directors in history.